“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ivy asked.
“Trying to decide if I should warn you Michael is coming over here or just let you be surprised.”
Ivy closed her eyes for a moment, then rose from her seat at the island and calmly carried her bowl over to the sink, rinsing the bits of cracker and film of soup residue from the bowl before placing it into the dishwasher. No one could say she wasn’t pulling her weight. All the while her heart was hammering erratically in her chest as she debated what to do. To run upstairs and change would make it seem like she cared. But she did care. The last time she’d seen Michael was five years ago. Her hair had been longer, her body eight pounds thinner, and her smile much wider. Nowadays she had to coax her smiles to the surface—and that certainly wasn’t what she wanted Michael to see.
“What would you do?” she asked Shea, who had taken her seat at the island.
Shea looked her up and down. “Change. Definitely.”
She nodded. “Point taken. When does he get here? And why exactly is he coming?”
Shea glanced at the kitchen clock. “Any minute. And he’s going over some wedding stuff with us. He suggested coming over here so Mom could have input, and I didn’t feel like I should say no.” Shea gave her a look. “We can’t let things get weird.”
“I don’t intend to.” Granted she hadn’t known Michael would be next door when she’d hastily packed her things and fled the mountains for the coast. But she had known somewhere in the recesses of her mind that she would eventually see him, that he would at the very least be at the wedding. And in a way, isn’t that what she wanted all along? The chance to revisit the past, finish unfinished business, say “I’m sorry” face-to-face?
She thought about April’s news about Elliott tweeting his apologies and let the thought fly right back out of her head. She couldn’t deal with Elliott right now. She caught her reflection in the microwave door. She needed to take care of her appearance pronto.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, and scurried out of the room.
As she took the stairs two at a time, she heard Shea call after her, “I didn’t expect you’d care that much!”
She fought the urge to try to explain things to Shea, as if she could, thinking instead about what she would wear to see the man who used to love her, the man whose heart she broke five years ago, the man who’d known her almost as long as her own family, and as well.
Eight
From downstairs Ivy could hear the front door opening and the low timbre of men’s voices floating up to where she stood in front of the mirror, fussing with her hair and makeup like a teenager preparing for her first big date. She put down her mascara and studied her face. Her eyes were still the same shade of blue, though they had seen many things since she and Michael were last together. Her nose still tilted up a bit on the end, a quality Michael used to love to tease her about. She had the faintest hint of two lines forming between her eyes, though she was years away from real wrinkles, she hoped. Her hair was the same shade of blond, though a few highlights were now required to keep it that way.
She looked close to the same girl he once knew. But she was far from that girl. She wondered if, when he looked at her, he would sense the changes that lurked underneath the surface. Was she afraid that he would—or that he wouldn’t? She turned away from the mirror with a sigh. It was time to find out.
She gripped the stair railing as she slowly made her way down, watching the three of them as they laughed and talked, unaware of her yet. There was a space on the couch beside Michael, a space she guessed was her space, saved all these years. She knew the three of them had felt her absence at first, but was it possible that in a way they still did? She wondered if perhaps in some ways they’d been waiting for this moment, waiting for her to come back and fill that empty space. She shook her head and smiled at herself. She was being ridiculous and melodramatic.
Michael turned and saw her, stopping whatever story he was telling in midsentence as the room went completely quiet. He stood, ever true to his Southern manners. “Ivy Copeland,” he said.
She did not correct him for using the wrong last name. Reminding him she was married just didn’t feel like the right thing to do at that moment. Instead she held her arms out. “It’s me!” she tried to sing out, but her voice caught in her throat and came out sounding like a bird with laryngitis. She looked like a complete fool. So much for her poignant entrance.
He laughed and sat back down. “So it is.” He patted the seat beside him. “Have a seat.”
For just a moment she felt guilty. Was it right to sit next to Michael? She was still married, after all. And he was the man she almost married. What would Elliott think if he found out? But then she thought about what Elliott had done and plopped down next to Michael, squeezing his knee in what she hoped was just a friendly greeting, less overt than a hug, but more familiar than a handshake. Still, she noticed Shea’s eyebrows go up.
“It’s so good to see you again, Michael,” she said.
He looked at her with his own version of Shea’s reaction. “Yeah, you too.” He studied her. “You cut your hair.”
Her hand flew up to her locks, badly in need of a trim. “Yeah,” she said, feeling self-conscious with his eyes on her, his gaze a mix of the familiar and strange.
He shrugged. “Makes you look older.”
“I am older,” she mumbled. She placed her hand back in her lap, trying to hide that her hands had started to shake.
She couldn’t let on how rattled, how silly, how completely out of her comfort zone she felt at that moment. And she couldn’t let on that she and Elliott were anything but happy. Instead she would pretend all was well, just like she had the last time she was with Michael. At some point she and Michael would probably have to talk about all of that, clear the air. But not tonight. Tonight she would listen and participate in the wedding discussions. And she would ignore the nagging feelings of déjà vu that sitting next to Michael and talking about weddings stirred up in her.
Shea broke in before things got too awkward. “Michael, tell us about the beach house rental you found. It sounds like it’ll be a perfect place for the groomsmen to stay.” Shea, Owen, and Michael continued their discussion of the house for the groomsmen, giving Ivy a chance to sneak the occasional look at Michael out of the corner of her eye. The laugh lines around his eyes were just a bit deeper, but his eyes were still the same shade of blue. He no longer had curly hair but had shaved it to a short buzz cut that made him look more rugged, tougher. When he smiled he still looked like he was laughing at something that was his own personal secret. This stranger was somehow still so familiar to her. She would bet that he was struggling with the exact same feelings she was having. At least, she realized, that’s what she hoped.
As wrong as it was, as unfair as it was, she found that she wanted Michael to still want her. And yet, as they sat together on the couch, talking about the wedding that was not theirs, he was polite but not friendly, reserved instead of engaging. He was keeping her at arm’s length, which was actually smart of him, considering all she had put him through. And yet, she wasn’t used to him being smart where she was concerned, and she didn’t like it one bit. She had expected him to be the Michael she left behind, not some new version of himself. The change in him was disconcerting.
She found it drew her to him. She always had been one to rise to a challenge. Maybe proving to Michael that she’d changed, that she wasn’t what he thought, that he could trust her—and maybe even love her—again would be just the thing to help heal her broken heart. Maybe if she was with Michael, she wouldn’t feel so alone.
She thought about her walk earlier, and her prayer asking God to help her not feel so alone. Maybe she felt so alone because she’d made a mistake and married the wrong guy. Maybe the one sitting beside her had been the right one all along, and God had led her back here to find him. She snuck another glance at him and ducked her head as the corners of her mouth turned up ref
lexively at the thought.
When she looked up, Shea was watching her, her brows knit together, the corners of her mouth turned down. Later she would have to explain all of this to her sister, but that was not a conversation she was looking forward to. Telling Shea how she felt about Michael would mean also telling her how she felt about Elliott. And telling her how she felt about Elliott would mean admitting that her family had been right all along.
She wasn’t ready for that, and she doubted she ever would be. She would think about other things instead—focus on the past that she and Michael shared, and the meaning behind them being there together, both charged with helping two family members finally say “I do.” Maybe—just maybe—in the united planning, there would come a new kind of unity. One that would change everything for her and Michael, one that would right old wrongs and heal new hurts. She would rise to this challenge, making her past somehow become her future, and the man she once thought was her future instead become part of her past. Maybe her pilgrimage was designed to lead her back to Michael.
After Michael and Owen had gone home, Ivy retreated to her bedroom and opened her laptop to log in to Twitter, her curiosity getting the better of her. She needed to put Elliott behind her, but she also wanted to find out what he was saying to her, about her, in a public forum.
She couldn’t believe he’d resorted to Twitter as a means of reaching her. And yet, as she pulled up the handle April said he was using, she had to admit it was working. There was something about knowing that other people could see their private business that compelled her to look instead of ignore as she’d been doing. If his tweets were too much, she reasoned, she could always report him, get him shut down for using Twitter inappropriately. She had heard of that happening and she wasn’t afraid to do it.
And yet, as she saw his photo pop up on his page, Ivy felt the familiar twinge his face always caused inside of her, ever since the night they’d met. It was a feeling she hadn’t had in a while. With her busyness at work and the distance he’d put between them, her feelings for Elliott had been mostly nonexistent in the past few months. About the only feeling she’d felt at all had been anger. And yet, as she saw his face online, she felt … different. He’d always sparked something inside her—a combination of challenge and conclusion, the problem and the answer all in one appealing package. Once upon a time, she’d found the combination magical, intoxicating.
Under his profile picture was a short bio. He’d written: “Just a guy who messed up, trying to say ‘I’m sorry’ to the one he hurt. Since she won’t talk to me, this is my only option. To those who listen, thank you. I hope one of you is her.” She refused to let his sweet bio get under her skin. He was simply a man who didn’t take no for an answer or know his own limits—which was actually the reason she left him, when you got right down to it.
Under the bio were his stats. He had a few followers already, which was strange considering that he had just started the account. She resisted the urge to click on the list and see what their names were, start stalking any women followers to see if they were communicating with him. She could just imagine the direct messages he’d get: “If she won’t talk to you, honey, I will …” She harrumphed at the thought. Maybe he’d find some sympathy from them if he couldn’t get any from her. Maybe that’s what he was looking for.
She scrolled down to his first tweet, figuring she’d read them in order. It simply said, “You have no idea how sad I was to watch you drive away.” She thought of him standing in their garage, asking her not to leave, as if he had a right to ask that. She pushed aside the image of him loading her suitcase for her, checking her tires.
The next tweet said, “I never thought you’d go back there. I never thought I’d be the greater of the two evils.” He’d been the breaking point between her and her family, pushing her away from them with her choice to love him. He’d been the one who held her and promised he’d love her enough that she’d never feel the loss of her mother, her sister, her friends during those painful, strained months. Of course it had been a lie. Of course she’d missed the people she’d known and loved all her life, no matter how much he tried to love her to make up for it.
She had to admit that it had been unfair of her to ever expect him to, a lot to pin on one person. And yet she had to admit that she’d perhaps unconsciously held him responsible for the rift with her family, and resented him for it. That time in her life had been so tumultuous, and yet she’d chosen him over them. The anger boiled up in her again. And look how he’d thanked her.
She heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her. Reflexively she slammed the laptop closed and twisted around to find Shea leaning in the doorway, her arms crossed.
Shea spoke up. “Did Mom put you up to that warm reception earlier? That was kind of … unexpected.”
Shea’s question flooded Ivy with relief. Shea had assumed that their mother had made her be nice to Michael, instead of her actually being interested in him. This would stave off any further conversation about the state of things with Elliott, buying her some needed time to sort things out.
She smiled. “Not in so many words,” she said, not totally lying. Ivy was sure her mother did want her to be nice to Michael, even if she hadn’t come out and asked her to be.
“You know, you don’t have to sacrifice your marriage to make Mom happy,” Shea said. “And you don’t have to overcompensate with Michael now that you’re back.” She drummed her fingers on the wooden doorframe. “He’s totally cool with things now. He’s fine.”
Shea thought Ivy was being nice to Michael because she felt guilty. She had no idea that Ivy was interested in him. Part of her longed to confide in her sister, just like when they were young. They would sit together and delve into the evening, analyzing the boys’ every move, every word. Were they interested? How long would it last? Would they one day be bound by more than sisterhood and be married to cousins too? They used to be giddy, imagining their futures, entwined in this place and these people. It had all been so perfect, for a time.
And then she’d gone and ruined it.
“That’s good,” she told her sister, maintaining the safe distance they’d created since then instead of choosing to spill her guts. Things were okay with Shea, but there was a part of Ivy that still felt standoffish around her, guarded. She remembered the scathing letter Shea had written her, which came to the cabin she was staying in on April’s property. Ivy still didn’t know how she’d tracked her down there. She’d shared the letter with Elliott and he’d made her ceremonially burn it in the big fire pit on the property. Then he’d held her as she cried over all that she had lost, mourning her sister just as surely as if she had died. That wasn’t a gap you closed in a few friendly conversations. Better to take cautious steps, build the bridge one thin plank at a time.
“I just thought I’d tell you that—while I appreciate you trying to make things okay—you don’t have to try so hard.” Shea studied her for a moment. Ivy wished she knew what was going on behind her eyes but didn’t dare ask. “We’re okay, here. All of us. It was hard for a while after you left, but over time, it got better.”
“That’s good,” she said for the second time, her discomfort growing the more they talked. She changed the subject. “Oh, I talked to Dad. He said he’s coming down here a few days before the wedding. He said to tell you he’s sorry that it won’t be sooner. He’s just covered up with all this business stuff.” Shea didn’t care about the details that were tying him up. “But here’s something weird. He’s not bringing a date. I thought for sure he’d bring that woman he’s been seeing. What’s her name?”
Shea scanned the ceiling as she tried to recall. “Umm, Delores?”
Ivy laughed. “No, Delores worked in my office.” The image of her dad dating Delores was truly comical. “Elliott and I had dinner with him and this one last winter.” Since the divorce Simon had gone through a string of attractive older women, preferring the term companion to girlfriend whenever he referred
to one of them. None of them ever lasted longer than four months.
Shea shrugged and smiled. “I have to admit I’m glad he’s not bringing anyone. I’ve been kinda nervous about how that would make Mom feel.”
Ivy nodded.
“So, it’s all good, right? Everything’s working out?” Shea was putting question marks at the end of her statements. Either she wanted to be reassured or she was giving Ivy an opening.
“Yeah, it’s all good,” Ivy responded. She hoped her face was as smooth and emotionless as she was willing it to be.
Shea looked like she was about to say more, but her eyes flickered to the closed laptop. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” She gave a little wave and walked away, a familiar whiff of her perfume wafting through the room, reminding Ivy of summer nights riding in a yellow Jeep with the top off, the warm air rushing past as they sang along to the Dave Matthews Band at the top of their lungs, thinking things would never change as only the young can do.
Nine
Monday morning Ivy woke with one purpose: to send out the tags to Shea’s wishing tree. She would do the job she’d been assigned to do perfectly, because she could. And, in the face of everything else going on, taking care of something and checking it off a list felt like the perfect activity.
She walked downstairs, poured herself some coffee, added her mother’s plain half-and-half (not the same as her hazelnut creamer from home, but beggars couldn’t be choosers), and walked over to inspect the sad little tree.
When she’d set it down, one of the branches had listed farther over, causing a gap down the middle. There were hardly any rocks left in the bottom of the pot to anchor it down, which was why it wasn’t standing. And upon further inspection she saw a crack in the pot itself. She shook her head and stood back up, taking a sip of coffee while she thought about what she needed to restore it. Her mom came over and stood beside her, silently observing the tree too.
The Wishing Tree Page 9